


Bombs for Bonding

by DragonRiderMagyk



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A little impalement, Angst, Bombs, Clint and Steve are best bros, Clint is done, Gen, Hurt Steve, Steve Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonRiderMagyk/pseuds/DragonRiderMagyk
Summary: While running a routine mission, things go wrong for Steve and Clint- but as always, teammates stick together to the end.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Bombs for Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction I've felt comfortable sharing, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

“Hawkeye?” Captain America glances around the dark tunnel, the only thing standing out the sound of drops of water hitting puddles on the floor. “Clint!” Taking a cautious step forward, he peers through the darkness, but still sees nothing. Frowning, Steve keeps walking, shield clasped on his arm and primed to attack or defend.  
It was supposed to be just another routine call; the Avengers had responded to a bomb threat in the city for what felt like the fifth time in the past month. To cover more ground, they had all split up to either find the person threatening the city or the bomb itself, a seemingly impossible task seeing as how they had almost nothing to go off of. Thankfully, Iron Man’s scanners were (of course) top notch, meaning he could fly above all the buildings and streets and scan for potential explosives. However, they couldn’t quite penetrate underground, so while he did that, the rest of the team had taken to the sewers and tunnels below the bustling city.  
Steve had been scanning his own portion when Clint’s comm had suddenly went dead. Tony’s tech almost never failed; concerned, Steve told the rest of the team he’d check it out while they kept searching for the bomb. They couldn’t afford to lose time on this, as harsh as it sounded. Steve was not new to sacrifice, but he hated it when it wasn’t him. He knew that wasn’t logical, but he was also too stubborn to worry over it.  
“Hawkeye!” Steve calls softly, hoping the archer’s good ears will pick it up. He winces inwardly, hoping to god that Clint hasn't been taken down by the bomber and Steve had just given away his position.  
He grits his teeth and resolves to just rely on his sight and hearing to find his missing teammate. A low groan catches his ears, and Steve halts, trying to decipher where it came from and what the situation is.  
At a wet cough, Steve just carries on, jogging closer to the sound. It doesn't sound good, and he isn't about to be tactical when someone he cares about was in trouble, despite the strategical side of his brain screaming at him to be careful. “Clint?” He keeps his voice low and gets another groan in answer.  
As he gets closer to the source, Steve can see the archer on the ground, head glistening a bit in the dim light from the blood that was coating it. That screaming side of his brain breaks through for a second, and Steve glances around the room, eyes searching for any trip wires or the bomb itself, fully understanding that Clint could be bait to set it off.  
Seeing nothing suspicious, Steve drops to his knees beside Clint, running his free hand over Clint’s face to check for anything majorly wrong. His body itself looks to be stable- Clint must have been taken out with one shot while he was hunting for the bomb. Satisfied that moving Clint will do no harm, Steve goes to pick him up, opening his mouth to bring the comm back online to inform the team.  
He’s only inhaled to speak when a strong kick to the side of the head knocks him into the tunnel wall, the comm skittering out of his ear. Ringing filling his brain, Steve shifts the shield into his hand and whips around, eyes quickly readjusting and locating the figure of the man who must have kicked him. He tosses the shield in one smooth motion, the metal silent as it flies through the air.  
Somehow, the man is quick, punching the shield right on an edge, throwing it off course. The shield strikes the floor, its momentum keeping it rolling past the man.  
Swallowing his shock, Steve lunges to attack, trying to keep the man’s attention off of Hawkeye, even though he probably had plenty of time to do what he wanted to Clint before Steve had even got there.  
The man’s punches are precise and powerful. Steve doesn’t recognize him, but he must be built similarly to himself. Pushing that to the back of his mind, Steve focuses solely on bringing the man down. They both manage to keep the fight equal between the other, striking and blocking in a flurry of limbs. Then Clint groans behind them and Steve falters in an attempt to see if he’s alright.  
In that split second, the man has snatched a piece of rebar from the floor of the tunnel, and Steve only has time to think that the rebar really should have been cleaned up long ago before he’s driven back with a flying kick into the wall, his arms only doing so much to block it. Before he can recover, the rebar is being driven into his stomach, and Steve gasps with the shock of it as he feels it punch through his back and impale the stone behind him. Definitely like him, then, to drive metal through stone. That, or the man is somehow King Arthur, Steve’s mind supplies unhelpfully.  
With a sickening grin as Steve stands there reeling, the man bends the rebar sticking out from Steve’s stomach, ensuring he can’t just pull himself forward and off. Steve grips the rebar to push it straight again, and then another piece is being slammed into his left shoulder and bent in the opposite direction.  
Now pinned by two pieces of rebar, Steve can only pant and gasp for air as the man backs away to inspect his work, standing in front of him and propping a hand on his hip. Steve remains perfectly still, even the act of breathing bringing on bouts of pain.  
And then the man crosses over to Clint, and Steve growls. “Keep our filthy hands off of him, you bastard.”  
The man chuckles and shakes his head, his voice soft as he replies. “He was merely a lure, Captain. I only want to ensure you don’t live long enough to make it out, but you do live long enough to suffer.” Two small crunches tell Steve that he’s stepped on both his and Clint’s comms.  
As the man comes back into the scant light, Steve only has time to process that he has one of Clint’s guns before it’s going off, the bullet smashing into his knee. It immediately buckles, and Steve howls in both pain from the shot and the rebar wound ripping some more from his weight dropping.  
Steve can only hear the dripping of his blood and his ragged breathing as the man comes up close to him, his breath smelling disgustingly sweet. Steve’s bleary mind tries to place the scent but comes up short. “Good luck, Captain. Enjoy your last few moments on this plane.”  
Steve uses the newly pooling blood in his mouth to spit on the man’s face. He jerks backwards, hands flying up to wipe it off as he scowls. He delivers a punch to Steve’s stomach and a kick to the knee that makes his vision go white with pain. He can’t even catch his breath to scream.  
The man laughs and saunters away, and then there’s another bang. Steve thinks for a second that he was shot again, but the grunt that he hears doesn’t come from him, but the man who is clutching his shoulder. Steve blearily realizes that it’s Clint standing, albeit shakily, with a gun pointed at that figure. The man turns to run, making it a couple steps before another shot rings out and the figure falls.  
Steve can’t really say for sure, but he may have blacked out for a second, because the next thing he knows there are hands on his face, and he snaps back, immediately regretting it when the sudden jerk aggravates his wounds. A choked off scream escapes his lips, and the hands are yanked back, but the owner doesn’t move.  
“Christ, Steve…”  
Steve forces himself to focus, narrowing in with difficulty on Clint’s pale face, the blood standing out in stark contrast. “Hey,” Steve wheezes. “You okay?”  
Clint chuckles darkly. “In comparison to you I may as well be on a honeymoon.”  
Steve hums in agreement, beginning to sag before the pain jolts him back up with a groan. His knee is throbbing underneath him, and he struggles to remain upright and still.  
He turns his head to weakly spit out some blood as the archer studies the rebar. “Shit,” Clint breathes.  
Steve chuffs. Everything’s becoming a bit shaky. Why is he still here? Oh, right, there’s rebar through his body pinning him into the tunnel wall and his knee is shot to hell. He briefly remembers seeing bodies like his right now on the battlefield, caught up in barbed wire, limbs not there to support their owners. The figures feel like they’re right in front of him, standing around just waiting for him to join them.  
“Hey, Cap, you need to help me with this.” Clint’s voice brings him back to the present. He’s looking at the rebar in his stomach, and clasps his hands around it. Steve grunts and sloppily grasps the piece too.  
As they both go to move it out, Clint groans from the strain and Steve gives a hoarse cry, the rebar in his shoulder impending him from using it.  
“Can’t,” Steve gasps.  
Clint bites his lip, releasing the rebar for a second. “We gotta get it out. We can’t leave if it won’t come out, and we can’t call for help, the comms are smashed to bits.”  
“You can,” Steve says, giving Clint a pointed look. Well, as pointed as he can be when he’s delirious from blood loss and pretty sure his eyes are going crossed.  
Clint practically growls at him. “I’m not leaving you down here.”  
Steve shakes his head. “Go.”  
A glower is his answer. “Steve, I’m not going.”  
His words fall on deaf ears that are tipping forward along with their owner’s head. Clint snaps his hand up, catching Steve’s head. He uses the other hand to lightly smack him back into focusing. When he does, Steve’s eyes clear a bit.  
“Go,” Steve rasps again, and Clint can see blood trickle from the corner of his mouth. “Get out, get to safety. Make sure the bombs are taken care of and get to the team. Mission before anything.”  
“Steve.” Clint leans in close. “I always have two missions going, and the first one is to keep my family safe. I’m not going. Besides, you never follow that rule anyways, you hypocrite.”  
There’s a pause as Steve gives a tiny smile that passes for more of a grimace. “I’m going to die whether you leave or not at the rate I’m losing blood.” The words are said softly and matter-of-factly.  
Clint hates it. “Well then I’ll try to get you out until you croak, and if you do then I’ll be here with you.”  
Steve looks caught between being angry and being grateful. Thankfully, he focuses on the latter. “That’d be nice. It wasn’t fun being alone the last time I died.”  
Clint grunts. Steve must really be doing awful for him to be admitting stuff like that. Clint wraps his hands around the shoulder rebar and struggles to pull it out by himself. It only budges a tiny bit.  
“I always thought I’d die young.” Steve’s voice breaks the silence, and the choice of topic is poor, in Clint’s opinion, but as long as Steve is talking, he couldn’t care less. Besides, he’s always been a little curious about Steve’s past. It’s not something he shares with just anybody, and Clint is touched that he’s choosing him.  
Clint waits for Steve to keep talking, and when he looks up Steve’s eyes are unfocused. Clint hums a bit, signalling that he’s listening, and Steve thankfully snaps back.  
“All the doctors told my Ma that I wouldn’t last past twenty. When I turned twenty-one, I went to her grave and celebrated with her for proving them wrong.” A wry smile crosses his face. “Ma always did say my stubbornness would get me through life where everything else failed.”  
“I think I would have liked your mom.”  
“She would have liked you, too. She was an archer when she was younger; always wanted me to pick it up, but I wasn’t strong enough to pull the string.”  
Clint actually laughs at that. Just the image of a scrawny Steve Rogers struggling to pull the string on a bow was comical. “I didn’t know your mom did that.”  
Steve gives a vague nod. “Never really told anybody about that before. Was never pertinent.”  
“Well I’m glad you told me.”  
“I’m sure there are pictures somewhere, cause she won a prestigious award. Can’t remember which though.”  
Clint smiles. “That’s pretty cool.” He studies the rebar, then it hits him. Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, he slotted and fired it into the wall opposite them. The arrow flew into it, sinking deep with the extra force designed to carry it further distances. The small line now extended from extended from arrow to quiver, and Clint carefully looped the quiver around the piece of rebar.  
He closes his eyes. “Brace for a second, Cap.”  
Steve nods, eyes fluttering a bit.  
Clint bit his lip and clicked the button. The line pulls taught, and then inch by agonizing inch it begins to contract, pulling the rebar towards the wall and out of Steve.  
Steve groans, losing more colour- if that is even possible.  
As soon as it is out, Clint goes to take his quiver back, thanking that asshole of a man for bending the rebar and giving the quiver a place to brace against. When he turns back around, he can’t help the startled yell. “Steve!”  
Steve has both hands around the remaining rebar, slicking blood all over it. He grunts and tries to yank it out, failing as he sucks in a breath to hold back the pain.  
“What do you think you’re doing?” Clint smacks Steve’s hands away.  
“Don’t want to die,” Steve grunts, “as a human shish-kebab.”  
“Now is not the time to become funny, Cap.” Clint rolls his eyes, wrapping the quiver onto the other piece of rebar.  
“Was always funny,” Steve pouts. “You guys just don’t know it.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I…I was the one who changed everybody’s last names in Jarvis’s database.”  
“No way.” Clint’s hands slipped on the rope as he readied it, and he tries not to focus on the fact that he did so because it’s collecting Steve’s blood. “Stark spent hours switching them back! He couldn’t figure out who did it!  
Steve chuckles. “I thought it was funny.” The rope grows taut as Clint pushes the button again. “So did Nat.”  
“Nat knew you did it?” Clint snorts.  
“She walked in while I was changing it. Pretended later that she didn’t know what I did.”  
“Yeah, well, that’s Nat for you.” The rebar starts to move out, and Steve groans. He looks like he is going to pass out, so Clint keeps up the conversation. “I did think Natasha Stroganoff was a good joke. Same with Thor Otherson.”  
Steve blinks at him, then grins bloodily. “I liked Tony Stank.” Clint tries not to wince at the obvious pain he is in.  
“Well, Cap, you surprised me. Didn’t think you had it in you to do that kind of thing.”  
The rebar slides out, banging loudly on the ground. Steve hits a second later, screaming as his knee does as well. It almost makes him pass out again, but Clint is there in front of him, hands on his face and begging him to stay with him.  
With a massive effort, Steve struggles to push himself back up, Clint helping. “We gotta go now, Cap. Get you some help.”  
When they are both standing, albeit rather awkwardly, they start down the tunnel. Clint keeps a hand pressed to Steve’s abdomen as they hop and shuffle, Steve’s arm slung over Clint’s shoulders.  
Clint can feel the blood from Steve’s shoulder wound trickling down his arm but ignores it, despite it bringing dread to the bottom of his stomach. “Keep talking for me? You need to keep awake; I can’t pull you by myself if you don’t.”  
Steve hmphed. “Don’t know what to talk about.”  
“Awe, come on Steve. You’re a hundred years old. Surely you’ve got a lot of stories?”  
Despite being bloodied and half out of it, Steve manages to give Clint a dry look. “Seventy of that was spent frozen in the world’s biggest freezer.”  
“Alright, Cap, I guess you’ve got more humour in you than I noticed.”  
Steve laughs and then chokes, his chest heaving. Clint starts to panic, and then Steve spits out some blood ad regains control of his breathing. “Sorry,” he croaks.  
“Don’t you apologize to me for somebody else making your innards come out.”  
Steve shakes his head. “So, what deathbed confessions do you want?”  
Clint debates about hitting Steve for his dark humour, but decides to wait until he isn’t near unconscious in his arms. Besides, it will be more fun then, especially if he does it in front of the team.  
“How about some funny stories about scrawny Steve Rogers?”  
They get a couple metres further before Steve starts to talk. “Me an’ Bucky got into tons of trouble when we were younger.”  
“No, not you, Mr. I’ll-fight-everyone.”  
Steve scowls. “I wasn’t that bad.”  
Clint can’t help the sharp laugh that escapes him. “Believe me, Cap, they tell stories about it in the museums and everything.”  
“Fine.” Steve hops a bit and stumbles, forcing him to use his bad leg to catch himself before he face-plants. Clint grabs and holds him as Steve chokes on a sob, eyes watering. “I’ve done this before, believe it or not.”  
“Got stabbed by rebar, or shot in the knee?” Clint quirks an eyebrow at him.  
“Well, I’ve broken a leg before.”  
“Do tell.” Clint steadies him again and they kept shuffling forward.  
“It wasn’t even from a fight. I was just trying to climb a tree. Got pretty far, actually. Then I fell, tried to do one ‘a those fancy roll things, and fractured my fibula. Buck had to help me hop my way to the hospital to get it casted.” Steve managed to look sheepish. “My ma came in a flurry, first looking like she wanted to break the other leg and then like she wanted to cut down the tree in revenge.”  
Clint can just picture it. He’s only seen one photo of Sarah Rogers, but even that was enough to simultaneously convey the sternness and kindness of the woman.  
“I was so annoyed, not because I had a broken leg, but because I didn’t pull off the roll.” Steve glances at Clint, a cheeky smile crossing his face. “It was one of the first things I did after I got the serum.”  
“Of course you did,” Clint sighs, laughing.  
Finally, natural light appears as a speck in the distance. Clint wants to cry, either in relief or laughter at the sheer irony of reaching the light at the end of the tunnel. “Almost there, Steve,” he pants.  
Steve hums, head dipping down.  
“Hey, Steve, stay awake. It’s right there, just a little further!”  
“I’m glad you’re here, Clint,” Steve mumbles. “You’ve been a good friend.” The last part is garbled, and Clint’s head snaps to Steve again to see blood flowing out of his mouth before Steve tips forward. Clint barely manages to twist them both so Steve ends up on his back and not his face.  
“Steve? Steve!” He thrust a hand to Steve’s pulse, sagging with relief when he manages to find a pulse. Unsteady and weak, but still there.  
Clint scrambles for the end of the tunnel, yelling to anyone for help.  
Iron Man slams down in front of him, faceplate popping up to show Tony’s relieved face. “Barton, thank god, we’ve been looking for an hou-“  
“Steve’s hurt bad, he’s back there, help him.”  
Iron Man is gone in seconds, then zooms back out with Steve in his arms, rocketing up into the sky and away. Clint doesn’t move until Natasha’s hand lands on his shoulder. He’s so exhausted he doesn’t even flinch at the unexpected contact.  
“Let’s get you to the medics,” she says softly.  
Clint nods, stumbling upright. Now that he thought about it, he realizes his head is still sluggishly bleeding, and the blurriness that he thought was due to the darkness of the tunnels is still present in the daylight. “I want to go where Steve is.”  
Nat’s eyes soften. “That won’t be a problem.”  
___  
Clint sits by Steve’s bedside, flipping the photo between his fingers.  
Steve is breathing deeply and evenly, but all he can see is the way Steve had been gasping for breath as blood dripped and pooled under his body.  
Gradually, to the steady beep of Steve’s heart rate monitor, Clint drifts into sleep.  
As he creeps slowly back into awareness some hours later, he is greeted by Steve saying, “You won’t tell anybody I did it, will you?”  
Clint leapt the rest of the way to consciousness. “Steve!” He leans forward to squeeze Steve’s hand. “Glad to see you back in the land of the living.”  
Steve cracks a grin, shifting a bit in his bed with only a small wince. “No more deathbed confessions for now.”  
Clint can’t help but return the smiles. “Yours weren’t pretty bad, you know.”  
Steve laughs, then grasps his abdomen, which in turn causes another wince as his shoulder pulls. Then he has the audacity to glower at his knee like it had been the one who mouthed off and got shot for it. Finally, his gaze settled back on Clint. “What happened with the guy? And the bomb.”  
“I shot the guy- his body was retrieved about a day ago- and Hulk found the bomb for Nat to disassemble.”  
“Good,” Steve says, relaxing a bit in the bed. A pause takes over the room, each comfortable in it, then Steve glances at Clint. “Seriously though, please don’t tell anybody.”  
“About what?”  
“The prank.”  
“Ah, yessir, Captain Syrup, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”  
Steve chuckled again before wheezing in pain. “I hate being hurt.”  
“Well maybe you should try it out less often.”  
“I’ll take the pain before anybody else,” Steve says softly.  
“Yeah, well, you don’t have to. It’s a team, we’re supposed we’re supposed to have an equal share of everything.”  
Steve looks dubious, so Clint rolls his eyes, leaning forward a little. “It’s worse to see someone you care about in pain than be in pain yourself. I get that. But I wish I could have taken some of yours down there.”  
Shaking his head, Steve keeps his haze steady in Clint’s. “You helped a lot, you know that?”  
Now it’s Clint’s turn to be doubtful. Steve notices his look and continues. “I would have been out for the count long before we got to the end of that tunnel if you hadn’t poked and prodded me to keep my mind focused. So thank you for that. Probably saved my life.”  
“Yeah, well, at least the stories gave me something to do while I waited for you to wake up.” Clint grabs the photo from where it had slipped to his side while he was sleeping. He places it carefully on Steve’s lap.  
For a full minute Steve just stares at it, as if waiting for it to vanish into thin air. “This is…”  
“Sarah Warney, winner of Ireland’s junior archery championship.” Steve’s mother’s eyes are exactly the same mixture of stubbornness and fiery righteousness as her son’s, looking proudly towards the camera, her medal in one hand and her bow in the other.  
“How did you find this?” Steve’s voice is small as his fingertips float over the top of the picture.  
“Took a bit of prying, but turns out the archery groups in Ireland still have a full book of everybody who ever entered into one of their contests. One of them was ornery, I guess.”  
Steve laughs, but it’s wet sounding. “Thanks, this… this means a lot to me.”  
Choosing not to comment on the tears flowing freely down Steve’s face, Clint casually shrugs, although inside he is hugely relieved at the reaction. The photo had been something to get to make sure Steve survived. After all, he couldn’t exactly die if his mother was there watching over him, and everybody knows it's rude to die when you have a present waiting. “It was a good challenge, so if you ever want to see if we can find more things like that, just ask.”  
Steve nods, picking up the photo and sweeping a thumb over his mother’s grinning face. He wipes away a couple tears before looking at the archer again. “I meant what I said, Clint. You’re a good friend to me.”  
Clint scratches the back of his neck, leaning back. “Well, you’re a good friend to me, too.” His ear tips growing red, he hurries on. “Just don’t get sentimental on me. I don’t do well with feelings.”  
“Got it,” Steve murmurs, eyes going back to the photo.  
Standing up, Clint decides to leave Steve to his thoughts. He begins to make his way to the door when he stops, turning around. “Hey, Steve.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Next time you decide to pull a prank, let me help.” He grins maliciously. “I know where all the best superglue is kept.”  
Steve smiles brightly, giving a mock salute. “Of course, Master Clonk, I could use the aid of a professional when it comes to this centuries’ prank wars.”  
Clint leaves the room laughing and feeling lighter than he has in a while, already planning a new joke on Tony.


End file.
